


Roof

by HeyMcRaely



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 20:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMcRaely/pseuds/HeyMcRaely
Summary: Neil only wanted to look at the moon.





	Roof

It’s past midnight again. Happens every night. Or every morning, rather. And Neil is up on the roof, again. Climbed barefoot out his window to get a better look at the moon, or what little moon-shape the clouds let through. But the window fell shut behind him and he can’t get back in or down. That’s just typical. Stuck out here alone. They’ll find him tomorrow, likely frozen stiff. Like a mime in one of those glass boxes. It makes a lot of sense, him being a mime and all, what with how little the others listen to him. They’ll probably never find him out here, actually, since they won’t bother to look. Won’t even notice he’s gone.

The moon does look nice though. What he can see of it.

“What are you doing, hippie?”

Rick’s head, out Neil’s window. Nose scrunched up in disgust. “Are you going to jump?”

“Rick! Rick, man, the window’s locked me out!”

Rick juts his chin forward, knowingly. “That’s absurd, Neil, windows don’t go around latching themselves. Vyvyan locked it.”

“Well, didn’t he know I was out here?”

“Well didn’t you know it’s bloody freezing? We could have caught hypothermia! If I wanted to freeze to death from the comfort of my own bed, I could have married Thatcher!”

“I-I’m sorry, Rick.” Neil finds himself saying. He doesn’t want anyone to get hypothermia. “It’s just, the moon was out, y’see and I—“

“Oh HAHA, very funny. I suppose you think I’m some gloomy-eyed monger with no sense of natural aestheticism. I am a romantic at heart, Neil, and I know perfectly well the value in a full–where is the moon?”

“Oh, you can see it really well from here,” Neil adjusts his seat. Rick leans far out, squinting in the dark, leans further. Halfway onto the roof, clambers a bit, red boot kicks the sash, knocks the window shut with a slap. Both boys look back at it. Resolutely shut.

“…Oh nooo,” -Neil.

Rick pushes at the window in a panic, can’t get leverage on the slant, the gap between the eave and window too far to bridge. He breathes out quick. 

“This is your fault, Neil!" He stomps his foot. The roof squeaks. "If you'd kept your interests a little more earthly, maybe we wouldn’t be stranded right now. Maybe we might have a little more productivity and sensible thinking out of you!”

He sits himself down hard. They stay like that in silence for a moment. Rick puffs in the cold. Uncertain what to do next. Bloody perfect. A paper due this week half-dangling from his typewriter back in his room as he sits here, losing feeling in his extremities. Not that he was planning to finish the paper tonight. Or tomorrow night. Wait, it’s after midnight–-tonight _is_ tomorrow. He can write it tomorrow’s tomorrow. If they get indoors by then. Why had he thought visiting Neil would be a good procrastination, anyway? 

Rick chances a glance out of the corner of his eye–-Neil is using a tapestry-type garment as a shawl. Rick edges closer. Coughs. Hunches himself a bit smaller. Curls pitifully near Neil’s side. Neil notices Rick looks awfully cold and he offers half the tapestry. Rick ducks under Neil’s long arm somewhat embarrassedly. They press into each other. Shiver.

“The moon does look nice tonight,” Rick concedes. The clouds have cleared a bit.

“Waxing gibbous,” Neil supplies.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“The phase. The moon phase.”

“Oh…right.”

Neil flexes his hands out. “It means rebirth, right. Growth. Change. Waxing…waning…D'you ever notice--everyone’s an optimist about the moon? It’s either full or half full. Never half empty. And when it’s not full at all—“

“It’s new,” Rick finishes.

“Yeah! Exactly!” Neil cries, excitedly.

“I suppose people should see the glass as half full or half new, then, shouldn’t they,” Rick says. He has the vague feeling he should be writing this down. There is something poetic here. In this hippie talk.

“Even if it’s an old glass,” Neil sighs, looking up at the sky, not really knowing what he means, but not bothering the understanding.

They sit for a bit, both feeling a little warmer with someone by his side. Then Neil pouts his lips out. Old glass. He looks at the shut window. It really is his fault they’re out here. Now it’s two mimes the guys will find frozen in the morning. Two mimes trapped. Their glass boxes half-full.

“Hey Rick?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you were right. I could have kept my interest a little more earthly.” He nods to himself. “Dirt…grass…shoes.”

Rick looks around. “What?”

“Could I see one of your shoes, mate?”

Rick pulls one off, perplexed, and rearing back, Neil throws it heel-first through the window. It smashes loud enough it would concern the neighbors if there were any left who bothered with the sounds from the student house.

“Smash-ING!” Rick roars. He feels much warmer now. Destruction of property always gets his blood pumping.

“I’ll dive over first!” he shouts, preparing to launch himself over the gap and in through the window. He jumps to standing–a creak from beneath him–Neil throws his hands up–

the roof caves in and they land in the living room.


End file.
